Chapter 2: The Bukkake Baptism
The second woman pulled out with a wet, sucking pop. Another gush of semen, warm and impossibly copious, flooded between Lara’s thighs, joining the mess already seeping into the mat beneath her. Her body trembled, a wrecked, sweating thing. The world was a halo of firelight and shifting, muscular shadows.
Before she could even draw a shaky breath, hands were on her. Not tender, not gentle, but purposefully firm. They hauled her upright, her legs buckling. Strong arms kept her standing, facing the circle of women. Their amber eyes glinted. Their cocks, every one of them fully erect now, seemed to pulse in the flickering light.
Tahu stood before her, her own member already thickening again. She placed her hands on Lara’s slick shoulders. “The vessel must be anointed. Marked by the tribe. Your skin must drink our blessing.”
Understanding, blunt and horrifying, cut through the drugged haze. Lara’s eyes went wide. “No, wait—”
It was too late. Tahu nodded to a woman on Lara’s left. She was broader, with stern features and a cock so thick Lara’s throat constricted just looking at it. The woman stepped forward, her hand a rough fist around her shaft. She pumped twice, her gaze locked on Lara’s face.
The first hot rope struck Lara’s cheekbone. It was a violent, surprising impact, followed by a slow, viscous trail. The smell, salty and pungent, filled her nostrils. She flinched, a stifled gasp catching in her throat.
Another woman stepped up. This jet splashed across her collarbone and the upper slope of her breast, warm and thick as cream. Lara squeezed her eyes shut, but the darkness only amplified the sensations: the splatter, the heat, the degrading, intimate paint. A third shot hit her sternus, another her flat stomach, trickling down into the thatch of her pubic hair.
“Open your eyes,” Tahu commanded, her voice slicing through the rhythmic slapping of hands on flesh. “See the blessing.”
Lara obeyed. The next spray came from a woman with a proud, arcing cock. It coated her right breast entirely, glazing the nipple, which peaked instinctively under the warm onslaught. Lara’s mouth had fallen open, her breath coming in ragged pants. A direct hit landed on her chin, droplets flecking her lips. The taste, metallic and alive, coated her tongue.
She was being painted. Conquered. Each splash was a territorial claim. The circle tightened. Ropes and spurts crisscrossed her torso, her belly, her thighs. One woman aimed lower, her cum streaking Lara’s inner thighs, mixing with the spend already leaking from her well-used hole. The air grew heavy with the scent of it, a primal, musky perfume.
Lara’s initial shock began to mutate. The aphrodisiac, still humming in her veins, twisted the humiliation into a perverse fever. Her skin, plastered and sticky, felt hyper-alive. Each new splash made her cunt, swollen and sensitive, give a weak, eager throb. A low, broken sound escaped her—not quite a protest, not quite a plea.
Tahu watched, a sculptor assessing her work. Finally, she stepped forward again. Lara’s body was a canvas of glistening white.
“Now,” Tahu murmured, her hands sliding through the mess on Lara’s torso, smearing it. “You wear our mark. You carry our scent. The jungle will know you belong.” Her amber eyes gleamed. “But the vessel must be sealed. Deeply.”
She guided Lara back down, not onto her back, but onto her hands and knees. The position was profoundly submissive, her ass exposed to the circle, the runnels of cum now dripping from her breasts onto the earth below. Lara hung her head, her ponytail a dirty rope over her shoulder.
Tahu positioned herself behind. The broad head of her cock nudged against Lara’s dripping entrance, still gaping and loose from the earlier fucking. It slipped in easily, a smooth, degrading invasion that made Lara cry out into the dirt. Tahu filled her, a deep, stretching fullness that her body accepted with a shameful readiness.
But Tahu didn’t move.
Another woman, younger with intent eyes, knelt in front of Lara’s face. She held her cock, heavy and veined, at Lara’s lips. The tip leaked pre-cum, the scent overpowering. “Clean it,” the woman said, her voice husky. “Take the blessing into your mouth.”
Lara hesitated. This was a line. A final, sucking surrender.
Tahu drove her hips forward from behind, a sharp, punishing thrust that shoved Lara onto the waiting cock. The head pushed past her lips, hitting the back of her throat. Lara gagged, tears springing to her eyes.
“Suck,” Tahu ordered from behind, her rhythm beginning, a slow, deep fucking that shifted Lara’s entire body forward and back. “Drink her. Or you will choke.”
The threat was animal, real. Lara’s survival instincts, warped by drug and ritual, took over. She relaxed her jaw, letting the thick shaft slide deeper. She learned the rhythm: Tahu’s thrust from behind pushed her forward, taking the cock deeper into her throat; the woman in front pulled her hips back, fucking her mouth in counterpoint. Lara became a bridge, a living conduit between them.
Her world narrowed to the choke and stretch of her throat, the brutal fullness in her cunt, the slick, squelching sounds that filled the air. Spit and pre-cum dripped from her lips. Her nose was pressed into the woman’s coarse pubic hair, breathing in the raw musk. Tears and sweat mingled on her face.
The woman in her mouth came first. Her hands fisted in Lara’s hair, holding her still as she gave a guttural groan. The first spurt hit the back of Lara’s throat, bitter and warm. She had no choice but to swallow, the viscous fluid coating her esophagus. Another, and another, until it overflowed from her lips.
As the woman pulled her soft, wet cock free, Tahu’s rhythm turned frantic. Her thrusts lost their ceremonial pace, becoming hard, possessive jackhammers. She was chasing her own end, using Lara’s body as a crude, perfect tool.
“You are ours,” Tahu grunted, each word punctuated by a slam of her hips. “Your clever mind… your strong legs… all for this. To take us. To carry the green.”
With a final, deep plunge, Tahu froze, shuddering. Lara felt the distinct, internal flood, a hot gout of seed that seemed to go on forever, filling the empty spaces inside her until she felt impossibly, bloatingly full. It was a branding from the inside.
Tahu withdrew, and a torrent of semen followed, splattering between Lara’s trembling thighs. She collapsed onto her side, a broken doll. Cum leaked from every opening. She was vomit-soaked, sweat-soaked, seed-soaked. The circle of women looked down, their expressions now holding something new: not just assessment, but a crude acceptance.
Tahu crouched, her fingers tracing the distended curve of Lara’s belly. “The vessel is prepared. The roots will find purchase. Sleep now. Tomorrow, the planting truly begins.”
Lara’s eyes fluttered shut. The last thing she heard before the darkness claimed her was the soft, satisfied chanting of the tribe, and the relentless, hungry silence of the jungle, waiting.